The Ten Bells

Working-class and natural wine bar aren't two terms that seem like they fit. But then again, there's a lot about The Ten Bells that feels just slightly askew, in the best way. In a scene that can get awfully precious, The Ten Bells (with a newer second outpost in Bushwick) has built its reputation on the opposite instinct: offering quality without pretension, an eye kept firmly on what they are, in fact, doing: serving the Lower East Side an intoxicant whose main purpose is enjoyment.

The wine list is anchored to small-scale, unglamorous producers, tipping deliberately into terroirs the bigger power players tend to overlook. That feels more like a statement about where our biases lead us than about wine itself. Whereas a power player focused on France or Italy is a superhighway, The Ten Bells feels like a desire path—more interesting, leading you somewhere worth the moment or two of uncertainty.

Its name is borrowed from a bar in London's Spitalfields, one with an infamous connection to the Jack the Ripper murders. What exactly inspired that choice remains a bit of a mystery. Whatever the reasoning, the place itself isn't dark in a themed or gloomy way, just moodily lit and unbothered by explaining itself. The room isn't playing at a lowered pretense; it just is: worn in the right places, dim without feeling gloomy. It's the kind of space that photographs better than it probably intends to—that elusive quality we call character.

The staff embodies that same quality beautifully. Warm and down-to-earth in a way that puts newcomers instantly at ease, they're the sort of crew who'd rather crack a joke about a natural wine than sermonize to you about it, let alone about why what they're doing is so important. They want you to enjoy yourself, to appreciate the wine the way they do. The food menu, mostly but not exclusively Basque, fits the same unfussy mold, with jamón bellota beside mac and cheese. It's all tasty, reasonably priced, worth getting.

While the bar does stock the occasional expensive, name-brand bottle for those who want it, that's clearly not the point of the place. What The Ten Bells does best is strip away nearly everything people tend to dislike about wine bars: the prissiness, the pretension, the preoccupation with pedigree. They even serve beer, which somehow feels like the final proof of the whole ethos.